


Missing in Action

by Alphinss



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Scotland Yard, Army, Army Doctor John Watson, M/M, Major Character Injury, Marriage, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-10-20 16:19:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10666338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alphinss/pseuds/Alphinss
Summary: Lestrade is worried about Sherlock. He hasn't seen the man in a week. What else is a man to do but break into the man's house under the pretence of a drugs bust. But who is the man that almost shoots one of his officers and why is he in Sherlock's flat?





	1. Chapter 1

Lestrade was worried. He hadn’t heard from Sherlock in a whole week. Now that fact alone had put him on edge but what made him more anxious was that he had tried to contact the detective about a new case and had received no reply. He had even left the man a voicemail detailing the gory nature of the crime scene as well as informing Shelock that the elite of Scotland Yard were baffled by the case. On a regular day the description of the case alone would have Sherlock running to the scene but the fact that Lestrade had admitted defeat would mean that Sherlock would normally be at the Yard as fast as was humanly possible. Even if the case didn't interest Sherlock, a week without work would have driven the detective insane. He knew from experience that to leave Sherlock without work for more than a few days would lead to extreme consequences as a result of his boredom. He remembered the time last year when Sherlock had been without a case for four days and had turned up at the Yard without warning. For the next two days Sherlock had gone around to different detectives insulting their work and their intellect. Finally after the two days were up a new case had arisen that Sherlock could work on and the terror had been over. After those two horrible days Lestrade had tried to put Sherlock on as many cases as possible to avoid another boredom induced trip to the yard.

Lestrade feared that Sherlock may have slipped back into old habits again. Lestrade had first met Sherlock about five years ago when the man had burst into the Yard proclaiming loudly that they had arrested the wrong person for the murder of a woman who had been found stabbed over thirty times in her London apartment. They had arrested the woman’s husband and believed him to be the one to have committed the murder after finding out his wife had been having an affair with her boss. They assumed it was out of jealousy. Sherlock informed him that it was in fact the dismissed maid who had killed her. She had, in fact, been having an affair with the husband. The husband had broken off the affair after a few months and dismissed the maid. The maid had, in her anger, killed the wife and framed the husband for the murder. After Sherlock had fully explained the reasoning behind his claims and informed them of his ability to deduce things Lestrade had offered him a job. Sherlock had refused to take any money but said that he would be willing to come and consult on any cases that interested him and so the deal was made.

A week after Sherlock had shocked everyone with his deductions Lestrade had met the consultant’s brother, Mycroft Holmes. Lestrade had been walking down the street when his mobile rang. An unknown number showed on the screen and curious as always Lestrade answered. The voice on the car was that of a man and it said to him

“Get in the car Detective inspector. You are in no danger, I simply need to talk to you about the matter of one of your employees by the name of Sherlock Holmes.” The voice explained to him. A black car pulled up in front of him and even though he knew it was reckless, he got in. He was then taken to a warehouse and it was there that he met Mycroft. The man explained to him that he was concerned for his younger brother and told Lestrade of the man’s past relationship with drugs. 

Sherlock’s past had never seemed to be an issue for Lestrade before now. Yes there had been scares where Mycroft had rung him up and informed him that Sherlock was having a ‘danger night’ as he called it and that he may need Lestrade’s help. Yet there had never been any real reason to be concerned as it had always been the case that as soon as Lestrade had gone to Baker Street that Sherlock had been perfectly fine. Lestrade usually stayed with the man for a few hours, just to be sure, but Sherlock always seemed to snap out of whatever stint he may have been in as soon as Lestrade turned up. However in the past week Lestrade had begun to worry that this time was different. He worried that Sherlock had slipped and that no-one had noticed. Lestrade wanted to make sure that Sherlock was not dead in a ditch somewhere or high out of his mind in some back alley. 

These worries were what led Lestrade to take the cause of action that he did the next day. He led a team of five officers from the Yard into 221B Baker Street on the pretence of a drugs bust. Mrs Hudson was out at the time and this therefore meant that the six of them made their way up the stairs undisturbed at the bright and early hour of nine am. The drugs squad were not too impressed when being told that they had to be ready to start a bust at that time in the morning but it was the only time Lestrade had free. This led to a few of the detectives from homicide volunteering to help out. Not out of the goodness of their hearts, of course not, but rather because they had somehow found out that the raid was to happen at the Holmes’ abode. This lead to both Donovan and Anderson being on the team. Lestrade didn't bother to knock as Mycroft had given him a key in case of emergencies and the idea that Sherlock might be using again was most defiantly an emergency. As the team entered the flat Lestrade noticed that it looked a lot tidier that the last few times he had entered it. There were still dirty dishes on some of the surfaces in the kitchen and books scattered throughout the living room. The difference now, was that there were no longer any half finished experiments that looked as though they may explode at any minute. The kitchen table was no longer covered in toxic substances and there were no body parts spread around the place. This surprised Lestrade as he had never thought Sherlock could change the habits of a lifetime and become a more organised person. Then again it was probably the work of Mrs Hudson. She had after all always been concerned about the state Sherlock left the flat in. Maybe she had finally put her foot down.

“Alright team, let’s go.” Lestrade said clapping his hands twice as he did so. He knew that in reality any drugs that Sherlock had in his home were most likely hidden too well for his team to find, but the possibility of them being found may just give Sherlock the wake up call he needed. Sherlock did not like people seeing him when he was weak and having six possible people to see him weak would give him motivation to sort himself out. They were about half an hour into the search when two of the team said they were going to go and investigate the upstairs room. They made their way up the stairs while the others remained downstairs. After about five minutes or so the group heard a yell and then a crash followed by another crash coming from upstairs. The other three team members looked at Lestrade for guidance on what to do and then followed him as he stormed up the stairs. The scene that greeted them was unexpected to say the least.

One of the members of the team was slumped against the wall with a hand clutching his nose and blood trickling through his fingers. The other was kneeling on the floor, his arm twisted behind his back and a gun at his temple. Lestrade went straight into attack mode. He nodded to Anderson and Donovan and for the first time since they arrive he was glad they had tagged along. At least he had someone that knew how to deal with a situation like this. They sprung into action. 

“Wilson” Lestrade said, addressing the man with the gun to his head “Shut your eyes.” Once he was sure that the man had done so Donavan whipped out her pepper spray and aimed it at the man holding the gun. The spray went directly into the man’s eyes and he staggered back. This was enough time for the three of them to disarm and handcuff the man and for the other members of the team to check over Wilson and Cave. The man was taken to the station and put in a cell ready to be questioned later. 

* * *

It had been three hours since the man had been brought into the station and one hour since they had started the questioning. The man was much less intimidating now that they had him in cuffs and he wasn’t pointing a gun at a fellow police officer. The man could’t have been taller than 5’7 and looked to be in his mid thirties . His blonde hair was cropped short in a military style and his blue eyes were still slightly red and puffy from the use of the pepper spray earlier that morning. Lestrade also noted that as the man entered the interrogation room he walked with a noticeable limp. The questioning had not been going well, No matter how hard the detective inspector tried the man had not told them a thing. He had not uttered a word since he had entered the police car at 221B. Lestrade was worried about what the man had been doing there. Sherlock had not been in the flat and so it was possible that this man had done something to him. Throughout the course of the questioning Lestrade became more and more desperate to learn something and his concern for Sherlock increased. After another half an hour of questioning the man finally said something.

“I want my phone call” the man said bluntly. It sounded like a command that the man expected to be followed without question. Lestrade and Donavan looked at the man in a quizzical fashion, unsure of how to respond to the command. “My phone call, Detective Inspector. Now.” The man said in a tone that left no room for argument. As much as Lestrade wanted to refuse he couldn't and so Donavon led the man out of the room and down the corridor setting him down before a phone and then listened as the man spoke into the phone. Lestrade also followed behind them, curious as to who the man might call. He dialled the number and then started to talk with the person on the other end of the line.

“It’s me” the man said gruffly. There was a pause as the other person responded. “You know where I am and you know what I want, so get on with it.” The man said in a bored tone, he then hung up the phone and turned back to Lestrade and Donovan. It took them both a moment to realise that that was it. That was all the man had to say. Feeling that there was nothing else that they’d get out of the man, at least in the next few hours, they put him back in the holding cell.

* * *

Two hours later, the man was free and Lestrade was mad. Some government official had turned up around twenty minutes after the phone call was made, waltzed into the Yard and had demanded that the man be released. He had the appropriate documentation to do whatever he wished and so the man was released, free of any charges and all of the officers watched as the blonde walked up to the other man who had enabled such a thing and patted him on the back saying

“It’s about time don't you think mate. You're getting slow. ” The other man laughed and said

“Well what about you. I mean getting yourself arrested. Thats a new low even for you, how did you swing that one you fool.” The two continued to talk as they made their way out of the station but the words were lost to the officers watching them leave.

* * *

 

Lestrade was still concerned for Sherlock’s safety. The man had still had no contact and after finding a stranger in the man’s Lestrade’s worry had only intensified. Therefore after the days work was finished, he decided to go back to 221B. This time, however, he would go by himself. There was no need to get any other members of the force involved. He called a taxi from the Yard and took it to Sherlock’s house, ready for anything. Lestrade had a can of pepper spray in easy reach, along with handcuffs and a small stunner. He was ready for any and all threats that may appear. If the blonde man was on the property there was no way he was getting one over on Lestrade. Not this time. 

As Lestrade entered the property he felt himself tense. His fight and flight reactions kicking in. Even with the years of experience he had as a police officer he still always felt nervous on a solo mission. There was a suspected hostile in his friends house and he was going in alone. The front door creaked open and his feet carried him up the stairs, the tension coiling in his stomach as he did so. He stopped outside the entrance to Sherlock’s abode. He listened for any noise coming from the room, he heard nothing. Suddenly the door was ripped open to reveal a slightly dishevelled Sherlock standing in the doorway. His hair was more ruffled, his usual curls a mess on his head. The man was dressed in his pyjamas and robe, they were also crumpled. Sherlock seemed a tad flustered and glared at Lestrade. Lestrade was unsure what the justification was for the harsh look that the man was giving him.

“There is no reason for you to be here Lestrade. I’m perfectly fine. Now leave.” with that Sherlock went to close the door in Lestrade’s face. However as the door shut Lestrade stuck his foot between the shutting door and the frame. He winced slightly as the door violently hit his foot. “That is simply immature Lestrade.” With a sigh of exasperation Sherlock opened the door again. “If you must come in then get on with it. I wish for this intrusion to last a short amount of time as possible.” Sherlock walked away from the door, flopped down on his seat and prepared himself for the inevitable interrogation that would follow. Lestrade was a pain and he wanted nothing more than for him to leave. “Go on then. Get it over with” Sherlock sighed, rolling his eyes and leaning further back in his seat. He looked at the man, distastefully. Lestrade wanted to stand up and shake some sense into the man lounging on the chair. He had been worried sick for the man i and here he was acting as though it was Lestrade that was the burden. The ignorant bastard. 

“Sherlock, can you please explain to me where you have been for the past seven days. Seven Sherlock! Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?” Lestrade’s voice rose as he continued. “Why didn't you contact me? All you had to do was text!” Lestrade was angry and frustrated with the idiotic genius that sat by him. He wanted to slap some sense into him. However, just as Lestrade was about to start an even greater rant at the uninterested Sherlock, a click of a lock and the sound of the bathroom door opening filled the room. Lestrade’s head whipped around to find the source of the unexpected noise. Who was in Sherlock’s house and why did Sherlock not seem concerned about said person? A man walked out of the bathroom, a man that Lestrade recognised. The man that had been arrested earlier. His blonde hair sightly damp and only wearing a pair of grey tracksuit bottoms. However those things were eclipsed as Lestrade looked at the man’s chest. A puckered, red, angry looking wound spread across the man’s shoulder. The stitches were still visible, black and clawing like a spider attempting to crawl from the wound. Also further down, running from the mans nipple to his belly button was an older scar that was white with age and yet the skin was still thick and twisted. It reflected the pain that must have been felt from it even through the months that had passed since it was inflicted. The chest in front of Lestrade was also covered in smaller scars all in various stages of healing. As the blonde man saw the new member in the house, his body visibly tensed, he looked as though he was ready to tackle Lestrade to the floor at a moments notice. He limped slowly towards the group, eyes filled with suspicion. 

“No need to worry John” Sherlock said in a bored tone “He’s a colleague.” Sherlock waved his hand to show how little this concerned him. “Now sit down and let me reapply your bandages.” The newly dubbed John limped over to the kitchen table. He pulled out a chair and sat, his chest facing the back of the chair, looking at the members of the room as he did so. Sherlock stood from his slumped position and followed John’s route to the kitchen. He first, however, grabbed a few supplies from the kitchen cupboards: bandages, cream and tape. The dark haired man then set them down on the table and began to dress the wound on the man’s chest, making several comments about John’s stupidity and lack of care for his wounds in a scathing tone. John seemed to take no offence as during the process a small smile made its way onto his face. Lestrade simply sat dumb struck, watching the interactions. Even with the scalding tone Sherlock was being more affectionate then Lestrade had ever seen him. He was helping someone. Sherlock was helping someone! Who the hell was this man? The minutes dragged on as Sherlock placed the bandages on John’s wounds. When finished John stood up and retreated upstairs to find a shirt. As he left Lestrade felt that it was his moment to wring the answers out of Sherlock. Lestrade stood up, ready to give Sherlock what for.

“Explain, to me Sherlock, why the man that was arrested for attacking two officers this morning is in your house right now?” Lestrade said, his voice adopting the same angry tone that he had had earlier. The man infuriated Lestrade more than words could describe. Sherlock simply raised one of his eye brows at Lestrade and sighed in a dramatic fashion.

“John has as much right to be here as I do Detective” he said in a bored tone. He picked at his nails and continued to speak. “I fail to see what the problem is.” Sherlock’s bored tone failed to calm Lestrade in anyway in fact it only aggravated him more. To the extent that he thought he might punch Sherlock in the face if the man did not start explaining and explaining quickly. 

“The problem,Sherlock, is that this John person assaulted two of my officers and had one of them threatened at gunpoint. Do you fail to understand how much of an issue this is.” Lestrade said, his voice getting louder and louder as he continued to speak.

“I think it is you that fails to understand Lestrade” Sherlock said, the bored tone was gone. Instead he was now bristling with anger. Lestrade was shocked at the sudden change in attitude. “When you break into a mans house and threaten him with tasers and pepper spray how do you expect him to react? John was perfectly reasonable in his actions today. I think it is you that is in the wrong Detective inspector” Sherlock said. Lestrade could feel the anger coming from the man in waves. Never had he seen Sherlock get so worked up over something so quickly and it shocked him. What was it that made Sherlock so angry over the treatment of this John person? Why did he feel the need to defend this man so vehemently. Lestrade needed to calm down and asses the situation properly. He was a detective inspectors for Christ’s sake he should know how to be calm in stressful situations. Taking a deep breath, Lestrade began to speak in a calmer voice this time. 

“Okay Sherlock, so who is John to you?” Lestrade said with much more composure. Sherlock tilted his head, looking at Lestrade curiously. 

“Well John’s my husband of course.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**** Lestrade’s jaw dropped. What the fuck was Shelock talking about? Husband? The man didn't have a husband? He stuttered a few inaudible word, the confusion taking over all his thoughts and therefore his tongue. He had no idea how to react to the situation, no idea what to say to Sherlock. What? What?! Sherlock had a husband and more importantly Sherlock had not told him about said husband. What was going on? 

Sherlock sighed as he registered the man’s face. Of course Lestrade had to react in such a ridiculous fashion. Why was it such a shock to the man that he was married? Okay, so Sherlock may have thought that John was dead for the past four years and so may not have made any mention of him at all. But still, Lestrade’s dumbstruck face was annoying. As Sherlock watched the man’s face with bored fascination, he was reminded of watching a beetle squirming in a jar attempting to escape. A pointless endeavour, as pointless as Lestrade’s attempt at comprehension was, and yet it tried anyway. After several minutes of dumbstruck silence Lestrade finally managed to regain, at least a small amount, of his dignity and managed to string a coherent sentence together. 

“So you have a husband and you didn’t tell me. Sherlock why didn't you tell me? Surely that’s an important thing to mention after three and a half years of friendship.” Lestrade had a slight tinge of anger in his voice, but mostly he just sounded hurt at the fact Sherlock had kept this piece of information under raps for such a long time. It hadn’t been easy for Lestrade to get Shelock to warm to him so when, after five years, he thought that the man had finally accepted him it was a serious blow to find out that such a monumental secret had been kept for him.

A knock on the door and a squeak of the hinges as it was pushed open cased both of the men’s heads to whip to the source of the noise. Mycroft Holmes stood in the doorway, a smug smile on his face as he saw the company that Sherlock had at that very moment. 

“Brother dearest” the older Holmes said. “I see you have some company. Good day Lestrade” Mycroft smirked, bowing his head in acknowledgement “Well little brother, I heard about John’s little stint with the police and just came to ensure his health. After all it would not do for him to grow ill when we have only just found him again, would it now.” Mycroft said, the smirk on his face only growing as he watched the anger grow on Sherlock’s face. 

“Mycroft” Sherlock hissed out “Neither John or I require anything from you. You should leave now.” Sherlock’s tone was dismissive and yet there was anger seeping into the words. `He looked at Mycroft with disgust. Sherlock did not need his brother’s interference. He did not want John getting messed up in any more of Mycroft’s twisted schemes. The last time he had been in one he had been missing, presumed dead, for four years. 

“That’s not quite true is it brother. Only this morning I needed to pull some strings to get Dr Watson of a most unpleasant situation” the man purred out. Sherlock clenched his teeth, his nostrils flaring in disgust at the man’s words. 

“Mycroft” he growled out, ready to start the argument to end all arguments. However, before another word could spew from his lips a creak of the stairs echoed through the room. Sherlock’s eyes snapped toward the staircase. All of the anger flowed out of his body as he scurried toward the staircase. Lestrade looked on curiously, while Mycroft only sneered as Sherlock attentively held out a hand for the returning army doctor, helping him with each step that he took. Lestrade could hear muttered reassurances being whispered from Sherlock’s lips. With each passing second Lestrade only became more bewildered by the changes in Sherlock. Even if John was is husband it did little to explain the insane fluctuations in the man’s attitude.

John settled down on the chair that Lestrade had only seen as empty in the past. Lestrade found himself thinking that the patterned material seemed to suited the man. Sherlock flitted around the man, making tea and somehow producing a plate of biscuits from somewhere and placing them before the man. Lestrade could only stare.

“Is your shoulder feeling okay John?” Sherlock’s tone was business like and yet Lestrade could hear the care that was underlying it. John gave a nod, before a gravely voice issued from his mouth. 

“It’s fine Sherlock. It’s a little sore, but I suppose that it’s expected from the reopening of the wound.” John sighed. It was the most words that Lestrade had heard the man say so far. As well as being the most normal thing. However he also was slightly regretful that he had spoken. He felt a wave of guilt run through him as he realised what was being said. He could only think of one event that would have caused the wound to reopen. He was a tad embarrassed at the fact that his officers had been so violent with someone who was obviously seriously injured. He was about to open his mouth in apology before he shook himself out of it. The man had injured two members of Lestrade’s team. He had a gun pinned to one of their head’s. He didn't need to apologise. 

While Lestrade was debating with himself he failed to notice the pair of twinkling blue eyes that were pinned to him. Sherlock was still muttering about the interruption to healing process and the issues that John may face in the future. However John was no longer listening.

“Detective Inspector” the gruff voice called out. Lestrade snapped his head toward the seated man. “I would like to apologise” he huffed out. Lestrade’s eyes widened in shock. 

“John” Sherlock whined out. “What are you apologising for? They should be apologising to you!” Sherlock complained, remaining Lestrade of a small child. 

“Sherlock” John growled. Sherlock’s mouth snapped shut, a pout filling his face. Lestrade wa too shocked to laugh. The look on the detective’s face was hilarious but the fact that John could quite him was far too surprising. 

“Apologies Detective Inspector, I am sorry that I injured two of your officers even if I did do it in self defence.” John hummed out. His tone was business only. It was not friendly. Greg was unsure of what to do.

“Ummm…well…” he stammered out. “I…apologise as well” he finally decided on. “It appears that my officers may have…overreacted” he managed to bumble out. John’s face softened slightly at the words.

“Well now that its finally over, will you GET OUT.” Sherlock yelled. John smiled fondly as the man spoke. 

“Sherlock may not have said it in the nicest way, but he is correct. Mycroft, detective inspector, It would be splendid if you would both piss off.” John grinned out. Sherlock gave an equally joyous look. He then proceeded to push Mycroft and Lestrade though the door, before slamming the door in their faces. A muffled shout followed them. 

“Don’t disturb us again for two weeks at least.” Sherlock’s voice called out.

* * *

 

Two weeks later and Sherlock was back at the Yard, his signature coat and scarf in place as he swaggered in. He zipped around, examining the crime scene as though he had not been missing for three weeks. The rest of the force didn't say a thing. Lestrade, it seemed, was the only one that had remembered the impromptu holiday that the consulting detective had taken. The rest of the team just complained about the fact that freak was messing up the crime scene. Lestrade could only watch as the man rattled off a list of deductions at a super human rate. It was quickly established that no, it wasn't the boyfriend. It was obviously the brother. It was all about the way the blood was pooling underneath the woman and of course the colour of her nail polish. 

Lestrade nodded, ignoring the insults that were aimed his way. Instead he only noted down the reasoning for the murder, the points that Sherlock had so quickly spewed out. However before he had a moment to comment on Sherlock’s deductions, the man was rushing from the scene, quicker than he had arrived. 

“Don’t call me for anything less than a seven next time Lestrade.” Sherlock called out. “This was a three at best.” With that Sherlock rushed off, leaving the Lestrade muttering curses under his breath. He then turned to the rest of his team, who were longing around gossiping. 

“To work all of you. We still have a murder investigation under way. A crime scene to clear up and a suspect to catch. Get to work.” 

* * *

Sherlock walked down the street excitedly, John by his side. He was grinning, his fingers intertwined with that of his husband’s. John was being pulled along by the detective, smiling fondly as the man babbled excitedly.

“The facilities are impeccable John. Molly informed me that they have a new batch of body parts in today. There are so many new experiments that I’ve been dying to try…” the man continued as John only hummed his agreement. Sherlock pushed the door to Bart’s open and tugged John in behind him, his grin only spreading as his words spewed more and more quickly from his mouth. He dragged John toward the morgue, almost skipping with glee. Sherlock very much reminded John of an exited puppy.

As soon as the doors were pushed open Sherlock’s demeanour changed from exited to intentional. He dropped John’s hand and almost ran across the room. John sat in one of the stiff plastic chairs that was situated in the room, watching his husband in awe. It had been far too long since he had watched the man work his magic. For the next hour he did little more than listen to Sherlock’s babbling. He asked the occasional question and watched as his husband’s eyes lit up and hurried to answer him. 

Their harmony was, unfortunately, interrupted far too soon for John’s liking. The interruption was made by a woman rushing loudly into the room. She appeared to be in her early thirties. Her brown hair was pulled into a high pony tail, her brown eyes sparkling with nervousness. A smile lit up her lipstick lined lips as she noticed the consulting detective. Her eyes focusing on nothing but him.

“Sherlock” she breathed out. “I…I didn't realise you were here.” Her tone was breathy and filled with nervousness. Her eyes were filled with longing and desperation. John frowned. He wasn't sure that he liked the way that the woman was looking at his husband. 

“Ah Molly” Sherlock said dismissively as he spun around to see the woman before him. Oh, so this was Molly, John thought. He had heard of the woman. He was sure that the woman was infatuated with the oblivious Sherlock. Sherlock made no further attempt to talk to the woman. He turned his back, continuing to examine the various severed fingers, slowly disintegrating after being subject to various different substances. Molly stood awkwardly for several seconds, tugging awkwardly at the sleeves of her lab coat.

“Well Sherlock…” she finally stammered out. Her eyes then lit up with inspiration, seemingly having found a conversation topic. “Would you like to get some tea?” she questioned shyly. Sherlock looked up from his work. His eyes meeting Molly’s. 

“Of course, black one sugar. John will have his with just milk” he said before turning his attention back to the fingers. Molly’s eyes widened in shock. 

“J-John?” she stuttered out questioningly. Sherlock merely hummed, focusing on the fingers. John took this as his cue to make his presence known. He pushed himself up, wincing at the pain that rippled through his shoulder. He made his way across the room, limping. 

“Hello” he grumbled out. Molly whipped around so quickly that John feared she may give herself whiplash. As her eyes met he continued his introduction. “The name’s John Watson” He thrust his hand forward, introducing himself. Molly took the hand delicately in hers and engaged in, what John would call, a rather wet handshake. 

“Molly Hooper” she responded nervously. The question was clear in her eyes. She wanted to know who John was and what he was doing with Sherlock. Therefore she made the first move. “I’m a Specialist Registrar here at Bart’s…” she trailed off, looking for something to say. She didn't need to. John picked up where she finished off. 

“A pleasure, Miss Hooper” he said with a small smile. He, however offered no further information about himself to the woman. Instead he limped toward Sherlock. He sat next to the man, their arms very nearly touching. 

“What you doing now then?” John questioned Sherlock in a hushed voice. Sherlock continued as though he had not had the interruption of Molly. He began to babble on about the various processes of decomposition and the differences between acidic and alkaline solutions. John couldn't hold back the smile and the fond twinkle in his eyes. He loved his husband more than anything else in the world.

Molly could only look on awkwardly, before she bustled off to make tea. As she dunked the tea bag in the water, stirred in Sherlock’s sugar and added milk to John’s, she kept telling herself over and over that they were just acquaintances. That Sherlock must have just picked off a random person from the street. Sherlock didn't have any friends, he didn't have anyone that he was close to. He couldn’t, Molly would know. 

Molly reentered the morgue, the cups of tea held in her hands. However as she kicked the door open and lifted her head the mugs slipped from her hands and smashed to the floor. Her eyes were wide and her mouth agape. Before her was John, seated on the work bench next to the severed fingers. His own fingers were intertwined in black locks, pulling the mouth of the Consulting Detective’s onto his own. Shelock’s body was pressed against John’s. A moan escaped his lips, which was interrupted by the sound of breaking pottery. Sherlock broke the contact, his head whipping around to see the disturbance. John looked lazily toward the shocked woman. 

“What…what…” Molly stuttered out. Sherlock ignored her. Instead his eyes flickered back to John before addressing him.

“Come along John, we best be going” he smirked. He then turned his attention back to the still frozen woman that stood in the doorway. “I’ll be back to check on the fingers tomorrow Molly. Keep them secure for me won’t you? A shame about the tea…” Sherlock mused before he rushed from the room, grabbing his coat as he went. John followed at a more sedate pace; stopping before the woman in the doorway.

“Apologies Miss Hooper. My husband can be rude at times. However I know that he's merely exited about his new experiments. I suppose I may see you tomorrow. A pleasure to meet you” with that John left. Molly didn't think she could be more shocked. She had been wrong. Husband? Husband! Sherlock had a husband! She didn't know what to do. Her eyes filled with tears. Taking a few steps she managed to support herself with the wall before collapsing into one of the stools that sat under one of the work tables. She brought her hands to her face as the tears streamed down her face. How had Sherlock never told her that he had a husband? 

* * *

John rocketed up form the bed, a scream ripping from his lips, loud and violent. His hands clutched at the sheets, his breath coming quickly as sweat poured down his face.

“John” a soothing voice called out. Arms embraced him and gentle words were whispered into his ear. “It’s okay John, it’s all okay.” John felt his breathing slow, his heart rate becoming more regular as the sooting tones filled the room. After several minuted of reassuring strokes and gentle kisses, John was calm. His mind was a mess but his body was no longer out of his control.

“Tell me” Sherlock soothed, as he ran a hand gently through John’s hair. John let the seconds tick by, attempting to string his thoughts into a coherent sentence. 

“I was back there. It was dark. There were screams. They…they were torturing them Sherlock. All of them.” John’s voice was filled with pain, his memories overwhelming him. Sherlock let his delicate fingers run through the cropped blonde hair.

“It’s okay John, you’re safe. You’re home and you're safe.” John let Sherlock’s voice gently sooth him until he fell into a light sleep. However Sherlock did not follow him. Even though he was without a case his thoughts were just too loud for him to fall asleep again. Sherlock could not stop thinking about how he had failed his husband. He should have been there for him. 

Sherlock and John had met in University, John studying Medicine and Sherlock studying Chemistry. John had latched onto Sherlock after seeing the man deduce that one of the members of the dorm had been sleeping with another member of said dorms the previous night. John had told him how brilliant he was and the pair had never looked back. A year and a half after their initial meeting they had both decided that it was beneficial for them to pursue a romantic relationship. Two years later the pair had moved in together. Sherlock had finished University and the pair had got a flat in Cambridge. The black haired man was spending his days attempting to entertain himself while John continued his medical training. Their nights were spent together. 

Another year had passed by, Sherlock had been bored. John had attempted to finish his training at a university in London. Due to his outstanding grades he had been allowed to transfer to UCL to finish his training. He and Sherlock had then spent the next three years in London while John finished his training. Three weeks after John officially became a doctor the pair were married; a small wedding with only family in attendance. However, their time together was cut short due to John’s army commitments. He was drafted to Afghanistan. 

On and off meetings and phone calls were their lives for the next two years. However soon even those stopped. A bombing of the camp, hundreds of soldiers killed, John was thought to be one of them. What none of them had know, not even Mycroft, was that John had not been killed. Sherlock had held a funeral for his husband. He had mourned and vowed to never love agin. He would be married to his work from now on. John had, in fact, been taken prisoner. He had, as a doctor, been forced to treat the wounded; both his friends and his enemies. There had been times when he had to attempt to heal his tortured friends while listening to the screams of others. Four long years of torture, almost all of it mental. It was amazing that he had not broken. 

Three months ago American soldiers had stormed the base. John, attempting to save the wounded had been caught in the crossfire. His left leg had been shattered through the fall as a bullet pierced his shoulder. It had take weeks for him to be able to move. Months for him to be able to stand and endless hours of therapy for John to feel even remotely safe. 

It had taken two and a half months for John to even begin to piece his life back together. However as soon as he started to delve into the past, looking for any information on Sherlock Holmes, he had put himself on Mycroft’s radar. The man had swooped in on John, ready to defend his brother from anyone that was searching for him. He had, however been shocked, dumbstruck even, to find one John Watson alive and mostly well. Within the week he had been shipped back to England. He had been reunited with a husband, a tearful and extremely emotional meeting. For the next week the pair had not left the flat. 221B had become their shared home, after housing only Sherlock for the past two years. It had been miraculous. 

Both he and Sherlock had been damaged by their years apart. They had been lonely, desperate and tortured in their own ways. To be back together was beautiful. However Sherlock was still burdened with immense guilt. He still didn't understand how he could have not realised that John was still alive. He had always prided himself on being smart, but it seemed that he had not managed to deduce that his own husband was alive. He let the self deprecating thoughts swirl through his head. He was in for a long night. 


End file.
